Trials of Love
by Agent Elrond 007
Summary: Beginning where the Fellowship left off, this is the story of the trials of Aragorn and Arwen as they undertake a perilous quest for a long lost weapon capable of defeating Sauron even if he reclaims the Ring. Plenty of action: guaranteed to please!
1. Prologue The Pursuit, beginning of Part ...

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The characters and locations are borrowed from the Lord of the Rings by J.R.R Tolkien, but the story will follow my own path. Any copyrights and trademarks are the property of Tolkien Enterprises, the Saul Zaentz Company, or their respective owners  
  
INTRODUCTION  
  
Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli watched the huge mustering of Orcs approach steadily across the frozen landscape in disbelief. Gimli rubbed his eyes. He looked critically at his flask of Dwarven liquor, tossed it away into the snow, and stared again. He muttered something about needing a bigger axe.  
  
"This is impossible!" cried Legolas incredulously. "There's no way an army that size could be here! The borders of the Dark Lords realm are hundreds of miles south of here, we would have heard if he was advancing to war!"  
  
"More to the point," Gimli chipped in, "what would they want with a place like this? There's nothing here that would interest Sauron or his Orc captains anymore, and precious little to be had in the way of victuals for an army that size." He hefted his all-too-light pack. "And I should know," he added as an afterthought.  
  
"It matters not," said Aragorn. "There's something amiss about this whole business, but that is a puzzle for later. We cannot meet that lot, so we have but one choice – to enter the ruined city. With haste!"  
  
"Just one moment, laddie," grumbled the dwarf, "I don't run from Orcs. Now, if we stand together, we can fight like men and keep our honour. What do you say to that?"  
  
Hearing no response, he looked behind him to see Aragorn and Legolas running full pelt towards the gate, with shameless self-preservation.  
  
He snorted, "I see Legolas has lived up to his name and legged it." He turned, and sprinted after them with the grace that certain very short people can call upon. "Why am I always this funny when no-one's around?" he wondered.  
  
Meanwhile the Orc advance continued unchecked across the ice-plains, and, for all its former grandeur and strength, the forsaken city looked appallingly weak in the face of such power.

* * *

Note to Readers: This story is set after the skirmish at Amon-Hen. Frodo and Sam have escaped across the river, and Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli have been pursuing the Uruk-hai who have captured Merry and Pippin. The way my story deviates from the Two Towers is that the Orcs along with the Uruk-hai forced Eomer to combat them on open ground, and drove him and his guard off after a mighty battle. After this, Sauron's Orcs headed down to Anduin to meet with the Nazgul, while the Uruk-hai continued towards Isengard...  
  
Enjoy!  
  
Sebring Tel'Mith'Quessir  
  
**Chapter 1: The Pursuit  
**  
_Seven Months Earlier..._  
  
Orcs, even when they have no need for haste, are not creatures that give thought to concealing their tracks. For this reason, Aragorn had yet to use his skills as a Ranger for tracking them. He had been on the chase, along with Legolas and Gimli, for over a day now - but if anything the trail seemed to be getting older. At last he called a halt, night was not far off, and Gimli was beginning to falter. "We must rest here for the night," said Aragorn, "so that we may run the faster on the morrow. Also, I dare not continue for fear of losing the trail - the moon will be small tonight, and she shall cast little light." His two companions readily agreed, and after a frugal supper, the Ranger and the Dwarf lay down wrapped in their elven cloaks. Aragorn did not sleep for a long while, but thought secret thoughts into the night, clutching his pendant. Legolas walked silently around them keeping watch, his eyes shining in the starlight.  
  
The next day dawned greyly, and the three companions prepared to leave at first light. After they had broken camp, they resumed the chase. The trail was still very clear; the tall grasses of the plains had been hacked and trampled down into the mud cleaving a clear swathe through the endless fields. The yellow grass stretched as far as the eye could see all the way to the White Mountains in the West, the border of the realm of Gondor. Aragorn stared wistfully at his country, wishing that happier circumstance should have brought him thither. As it was, he had friends to rescue, and could not waste time idly speculating on what might have been.

They ran on for many long hours under the bright sun but Gimli seemed more cheerful. "The Sun is bright this day! No doubt the Orcs are now resting until the evening." But Legolas shook his head. "These are no Orcs from the mountains, friend Gimli, but some evil creation of Saruman. They ran openly under the Sun before, they will not quail now. I fear that they have covered many leagues since last night." Aragorn, after listening intently with one ear to the ground, stood wearily and looked at his friends, "Legolas is right, they are far from here. They have not rested at all, indeed they run as if the very whips of Mordor are lashing at their heels." The three exchanged glances, and wondered what was now to be done. However they set out again, following the beaten trail of their foes, hoping that there still might be chance for a rescue. Yet they ran with heads bowed, as hope dwindled.  
  
A particularly painful jolt jarred Merry back to conscious. The reality was even worse than the nightmares he had been having though. Trussed up like a turkey, he was being carried slung over the shoulder of a particularly large and hairy Orc. The fiery liquor was still burning in him and he quickly took stock of his surroundings. He was travelling within a throng of huge Orcs, each carrying a hooked scimitar and a sable shield bearing the White Hand of Saruman. Pippin was being carried in a similar fashion. The whole group was crashing through the grassland shrubbery while the Sun, which was already high in the sky, was blazing down upon them. Ugluk, prominent with his massive body and long braided hair, was leading the group at a furious pace. He thought about calling something over to his friend, but caught the eye of the orc behind and thought better of it. Numbed by the jolting, he slipped into a painful sleep.  
  
A bloodthirsty bellow accompanied by a clash of weapons startled him awake and he perceived that the day was far advanced. The Sun was almost setting, its rays shining resplendent through the peaks of the White Mountains to catch on the plate armour of around a hundred Orcs of Mordor, who were drawn up in battle line in the path of the Uruk-hai, who had also assumed an aggressive posture. Yells and snarls arose from both sides as the respective leaders of the groups advanced. Ugluk and the squat goblin Grishnakh stood face to chest and glared at each other venomously.  
  
"Get that rabble outta my way, maggot, and get back to the River! Maybe your precious Nazgul wants his cloak darned!" barked Ugluk.  
  
Grishnakh just grinned evilly, "New orders from Lugburz, confirmed. The Halfling prisoners are to be taken to the River immediately. I've come to see that orders are carried out."  
  
Ugluk looked down at him with revulsion, "Don't you take that tone with me, boyo. We are the fighting Uruk-hai! We killed the mighty warrior! We fought the Horse masters! We took the prisoners! And I'm following my orders, to get these to Sharkey. Run away to your holes! You worms call yourselves warriors? You ran away in the middle of our glorious battle! You're nothing but scum, get out of our way!"  
  
With that, the two opposing sides rushed forwards into a chaotic melee of leaping, grunting bodies, whirling swords and flying arrows. Merry's orc had him tucked under his shield arm and whenever he wasn't being whirled around in midair, he was being battered by resounding impacts on the shield just inches from his face. As the sun finally sank below the horizon, giving the Mountains a fantastic halo of red-orange fire, the Orcs continued their furious battle.  
  
Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli had found new sustenance in the way bread of the Elves and were making excellent time. The land was all downhill towards the Entwash floodplain and the ground was soft and springy, perfect to ease the pain of sore feet, but a hindrance to the iron-shod Orcs. Indeed the trail seemed fresher and the three raced along it. The countryside was dotted with low hill every now and again, and the trail led up one of these. On reaching the top, they suddenly stumbled to a halt, aghast. The field in front of them looked like a battleground. The squat bodies of goblins, here and there the larger form of an Uruk, lay prone on the ground that was churned up into a sea of mud. Shields and swords were lying everywhere, stained with black Orcish blood. A few ravens were already at the scene, and breakfasting contentedly. Walking down the slope into the midst of the devastation, they kept a sharp lookout for any sign of their friends.  
  
"What is this Aragorn?" asked Legolas, "It looks almost as if there were a war between the orc tribes."  
  
"Not tribes, Legolas, but sides. These creatures bear either the Red Eye or the White Hand. My guess is that there was a quarrel over the prisoners, as is common with such foul folk."  
  
"Some quarrel!" muttered Gimli, staring at what he thought was the head of a really ugly Orc. He then realised that it was something else entirely.  
  
"En!" Legolas was pointing wildly towards the North. "Orquori ron rima a' ondonost!"  
  
"What was that?"  
  
"Orcs, Gimli. Legolas can see them running towards Isengard!" Aragorn ran down the path. As he ran he realised that he had never even told Arwen how deeply he loved her - and that now it might be too late. Yet he followed the trail relentlessly with his companions, passing items discarded by the Orcs as they went. Soon, even Gimli could see them clearly - about four score at least, loping along with the untiring pace typical of their kind. Even so the distance was closing rapidly and the fords of Isen were still a few miles off.

Concealed to the last by their elven cloaks, the three erupted out of the grass into the side of the enemy company. Anduril burned with a blue fire as it cleaved through the shield of an Orc to embed itself in his chest. One of Legolas' arrows pinned two Orcs together by the head. Gimli could not be seen, but Orcs suddenly falling to the ground for no apparent reason spoke for themselves. However despite the surprise attack, the fury of the attackers and the bewilderment of the Orcs, Ugluk was still able to rally them and the fight began to go ill for the three friends. Blows rained down on them from all sides. Aragorn and Legolas fought back to back, while the unseen Gimli was still hacking legs, but the Orcs did not relent and hurled themselves at the three. Two stumbled with arrows in their throats before Legolas fell to the ground. Aragorn saw this, and his fury knew no bounds as he hacked his way through several of the huge orcs, but suddenly he felt a terrible blow and everything went dark. Gimli was the last, but with their attention concentrated solely on him, there could be but one end to the combat.  
  
The rescue had failed.


	2. Welcome to Isengard

*************************** Chapter 2: Welcome to Isengard  
  
The air was heavy and smelled of brimstone. A dank odourous fog, hanging over the barren earth like a shroud. Figures were whirling and leaping within the fog - it seemed as if they were fighting, but that could not be possible. Aragorn was surprised to find himself running, sword in hand, yelling words he could not hear. As the fog cleared before him he beheld a mighty battle. Orcs, goblins, trolls, scores of them were warring with an army of Elves and Men. He lauched himself into the fray heedlessly and began hacking down the enemy. The bloodlust had firmly gripped him in body, although in mind he had no idea what was happening. All of a sudden he found himself fighting next to Elrohir. Dispatching thier foes, he turned to Aragorn and tried to say something, although Aragorn could not hear, try as he might. Following Elrohir's outstreched arm, Aragorn beheld Arwen engaging several goblins in some kind of bloodfest. However, unseen by her was an enormous figure clad in blood-red armour, with a mace in its gauntletted fist. It swung a mighty blow at her back, knocking her to the ground. Aragorn was running and crying out wordlessly...running...running. The figure raised its mace...  
  
"No...no!" Aragorn muttered weakly, clutching a cold round object to his chest. Suddenly, his eyes opened. Everything was dim, as if obscured by some hidden veil. Gradually he became aware of a sensation of unfathomable height - pitch black walls of stone fading into midnight blue - he was sure there were stars up there. Without warning, a squat hairy face was thrust over his and peered maliciously at him. His reaction was sudden and violent. The goblin snarled at the blow and drew a wicked knife, raising it high in the air.  
  
"Put up your blade."  
  
A voice came from Aragorn's right, a melodious voice, yet with an underlying note of steel, and supreme confidence. The goblin withdrew into the shadows snarling visciously. Aragorn was fully conscious and began taking stock of his surroundings. He was lying on a hard cold floor holding something... he peered at it and rolled it off and away from him in shock. The thing was a palantir, a seeing stone. Such things were very dangerous, someone must have put it on him while he was unconscious, but who? He peered towards the place where the voice had come from but it was swathed in gloom. The palantir rolled into the far wall with a muted thunk, where it glowed redly.  
  
"You should not have done that, Aragorn son of Arathorn," said the voice conversationally, "You woke at such an inopertune moment, you were on the point of reaching a valuable insight. I could read it in your face."  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
"That you know already."  
  
Without warning, a flash of light shot out from where the voice had been coming from. Torches on the walls erupted into flame. Aragorn saw then who it was. A man sat at ease in an enormous throne of black stone which seemed to be melded with the surrounding walls. He was clad in a white robe and held a long staff, thick and black, which ended in four prongs. A lumenescent white orb pulsed between them.  
  
"Saruman."  
  
"Quite so."  
  
The wizard stood and peered searchingly at him from dark eyes. He walked over to the palantir, picked it up and replaced it on a stand in the centre of the room. He raised a hand and one of the three pairs of doors, tall and carven, cracked open and ground apart. He looked again at Aragorn and smiled darkly, "Come, we have much to discuss."  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Legolas got up from his corner and walked around the room once more. Gimli looked at him irritably, "I do wish you would stop that. We've already realised that we're stuck here." The elf peered out of the narrow window, "I cannot help but worry about the fate of our friends, and where is Aragorn? He would be here." He did not get an answer from the dwarf, nor did he expect one. They both knew what might have happened, and it did not bear talking about. "Merry and Pippin must have had a rough time of it," said the dwarf, "Orcs are never gentle to their prisoners at the best of times, and those two have been carried through a battle. Our quest has been beset by misfortune from the very beginning."  
  
* * * * * *  
  
The two hobbits in question were not having a very enjoyable time. After the battle and the rout of the orcs of Mordor they had been battered and dazed and remembered little of the journey to Isengard. On arrival they were roughly searched before being cast into a dank smelly cell underground, where they were now trying to work up courage to eat the revolting rations they had been given.  
  
"Do you think it could get any worse than this?" asked Pippin, contemplating a mouldy piece of bread. "I'd rather be going to Mordor with the others than have to eat this filth."  
  
Merry gave him a withering look. "Like as not we will be going to Mordor as spoils of war, the only reason we're here and not dead is because they think we've got the Ring!"  
  
"But I thought Saruman wanted the Ring for himself?"  
  
"In that case we'll end up dead sooner rather than later. Once he finds out that we don't have it, we become useless, and he can remove us."  
  
Pippin shuddered, and thought about Gandalf. "I wish Gandalf were here," he said, "He'd think of a way out of this mess."  
  
Merry hushed him. Noises could be heard down the corridor, the scrape and clang of a door being unlocked, followed by rapid footsteps echoing on the stone floor and walls. A short hairy orc with long arms peered through the bars and exposed his fangs in a twisted leer. "The Master wants a little chat with you, my friends! Come along like good lads and no-one gets hurt, see?" He unlocked the door and pulled them out unceremoniously. After being dragged along countless passages and up endless stairs they were flung through a door into a wide hall. Torches burned along the bare stone walls and a fire was crackling in the hearth, but the eyes of the hobbits were fixed on the two other people in the hall. One was a man cloaked in white. The other was...  
  
"Strider!" they yelled in unison. He smiled back at them, but glanced meaningly at the man in white. This could only be Saruman. The wizard advanced on them slowly and curiously until he towered over their heads. "Hobbits," he said thoughtfully. They were instantly mesmerised by his voice, it had a power of persuasion to it that they were powerless to resist. "You are those curious creatures which so occupied the time of the dearly departed Gandalf the Grey. Now I can see why you so interested him, because one of you possessed an intriguing trinket, a Ring if I remember rightly. Is that not so?" Aragorn started forwards but they answered before he could say or do anything. "Oh yes!" "A Ring it was , sir!" Saruman's eyes glittered. He continued eagerly, "And you know something about this ring?"  
  
"Say nothing!" Aragorn cried. Saruman whirled around, eyes blazing, "Silence dotard!" He raised one claw-like hand and Aragorn flew backwards into the wall and crumpled up on the floor. He turned back to the hobbits but the spell had been broken. They looked up at him warily, percieving his greed. "Who bears the Ring?" he demanded. Pippin opened his mouth but Merry clapped a hand over it and shook his head. "It will be bad for you if you do not tell me." he continued dispassionately. Meriadoc stared up defiantly "We know, but we prefer to remain silent."  
  
"Very well. Keep your secret. I have ways of finding things out. Soon you will tell all, but for now, you can go back to the comfort of your cells. Guards, take them away!"  
  
As the hobbits were picked up and carried away, Aragorn got up unsteadily and addressed the advancing wizard calmly, "You will never find the Ring you know, it has passed out of your reach and mine." Saruman froze and looked coldly at the heir of Isildur. "You are but a rag-tag Ranger, nothing more. I am the greatest of the Wizards. It may have passed out of your reach, but not mine." His staff materialised in his hand as he spoke and he began to ascend the spiral staircase at the end of the hall. Aragorn followed him, "Can you not see what is happening to you? The very sight of the Ring drove one of our fellowship mad with desire, it is a force of evil and corruption. If you continue to believe that you want it you are being decieved. It is attracted to power, most particularly it's Master. It wants you!" Saruman continued climbing the stairs, "I have been studying the lore of the Rings for many lives of Men. I do not believe that your personal insights are quite sufficient for you to lecture me on the subject." They had reached a balcony built out of the side of the tower and the Wizard and the Ranger walked out onto it. Saruman surveyed the scene with pride, Aragorn with great fear. The commanding view revealed a huge mustering of Uruk-hai, some several thousands at the very least, lined up in battle formation. At the appearance of their master, they let out a storm of yelled salutations. "You see, my reach has grown long. With this army I can seek the Ring to the ends of Middle-earth if needs be, and anyone who stands in my way will feel the wrath of Saruman." He gave the Ranger a sidelong glance. "Perhaps you would do well to share your vision with me now?" Aragorn did not answer, but stared fixedly at the yelling horde. "Or not. Either way, rest assured that what is shown in the Stone is unalterable."  
  
The spawned army of Isengard continued their war-cries. Soon, they would be feasting on the remains of their foes... 


	3. Enough is Enough

*************************** Chapter 3: Enough is Enough  
  
Day was dawning greyly in Rivendell. The early hours of the morning were the quietest, as a rule, and Arwen had got into the habit of standing on her balcony to watch the Sun rising over the rim of the valley. It provided relief against the increasingly disturbing dreams she had been having, which had made going to sleep a frightning experience. Last night had been no exception, and she shuddered at the memory. Leaning forward to catch the rain on her face again, she thought about what she was going to do. She was never able to remember much of the dreams after awakening, only a great burning eye, and a fear for the safety of Aragorn. She had heard nothing from him since he had left on that mysterious errand that her father refused to explain to her, and she was sure that these dreams were somehow connected with that. Running one hand along the wet railing, she turned and walked along the balcony. He was going into great danger, and here she was, promising to be faithful, and letting him go. Well that would change, fast! After breakfast, she would make her father tell everything to her.... no, she would go now!  
  
* * * * * *  
  
The plains of Rohan were steaming as the nights dew was warmed by the newly risen sun. A speck on the horizon was the only moving object in sight. It approached with great speed, revealing itself to be a man on horseback. The thunder of hooves advanced and receded as the rider and horse sped towards Rivendell.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Elrond was in his study reading when his daughter burst in and marched up to his desk. He looked up at her, exasperated, "Darling, you're dripping all over the new rug and it's only just gone sunrise. Whatever it is you want to say, it can wait until you've got changed." He returned to his reading, signifying that the discussion was closed. The book was yanked out from in front of him and slammed shut. He looked up again to be met by a defiant stare, and as he knew her too well to excite her when she was in a mood, he leaned back to listen to what she had to say.  
  
"Well? What is it then?"  
  
"Father, I am not a little girl anymore. I want the truth, where has Aragorn gone and why was he being so secretive?"  
  
"This is hardly the time to..."  
  
"I have been having... ... ah ... atishoo!"  
  
Watching her doubled over in a sneezing fit, dripping and shivering violently, Elrond decided that enough was enough. Taking her by the shoulders, he steered her out and sent her off with strict instructions to go to bed and stay there. Returning to his desk, he resumed his interrupted work. Several minutes later he was disturbed again, this time by a rapping on the door. "Arwen, if that's you, I shall be severely displeased!" he called out. Another burst of rapping rang out. Sighing mightily he got up and pulled the door open, "I told you to..." He trailed off, staring at the grey cloaked man with the blue hat who was smiling at him. "Mithrandir!"  
  
"To take care was what you told me to do!" said the wizard, eyes twinkling, "Yes, it is I. I have returned through fire and ice to see an end to the strifes of this age." Gandalf walked in and seated himself on a chair by the fireplace. "I have ridden with great haste to ask you for assistance, old friend. The Fellowship is sundered and many of my companions are now the guests of Saruman the White. Whether or not Frodo and the Ring are among them, it is vital that we attempt a rescue. I have already been among the elves of Lothlorien, and Celeborn and Galadriel have agreed to help. Their forces are heading to the fords of the Isen. If you could help swell our numbers, then our chances of success will greatly improve." Elrond looked worried, "Of course I will help you, the matter of the Ring is too great for me to do otherwise, but Isengard is very strong and even if I emptied Rivendell to aid you, I fear we would be hard pressed to claim a victory." Gandalf looked grave, "There is always that risk, but I am afraid that we have little choice. Besides, with luck, we may not need to fight at all."  
  
"My daughter is also a problem, I am very worried about what the news of Aragorn as a prisoner in Orthanc might make her do..." He was cut off by Gandalf signing for him to be quiet. The wizard was staring at the open window with a curious expression on his face, almost one of amusement. Creeping over silently, he suddenly leaned over the sill and pulled someone into the room where she sprawled on the floor.  
  
"Eavesdropping are we now, my dear?" Gandalf looked down at Arwen kindly. "Do not fear, we will get Aragorn out of danger as quickly as we may."  
  
She however looked up at him shocked, "We were told that you were... dead! Yet you stand there and look the same as ever you did! How is this come to pass?"  
  
Elrond cleared his throat, "'Do not meddle in the affairs of Wizards..."  
  
"...for they are subtle and quick to anger.' Yes, I know that, but that doesn't explain why..."  
  
Gandalf interjected, "Explainations would take time that we do not have, I am afraid. Accept that I have returned to you, and if when this is over we meet again, I shall relate to you all that has befallen me. But now, to business."  
  
The three sat around the fire and began to talk, or rather Gandalf did. As the dawn advanced through morning, the puddle around Arwen's feet grew larger - as did Elrond's interruptions and the wizard's smoke-rings. However, by noon he had told them everything that he knew. It was decided that the threat of the White Wizard would have to be dealt with, and a great preparation for battle was begun. Some several hundreds of the Rivendell elves were donning gear of war and preparing to march once again for the defence of freedom. In the leading company were Elrond and his sons, Glorfindel the elf-lord, and Gandalf. Arwen too was with them armed like the rest, having flatly refused to be left behind. When all was ready, a horn blast sounded and the Elven army began to march out of the settlement. It was barely noon... 


	4. On the War Path

************* Chapter 4: On the War Path  
  
The iron grate in the cell door slid open with a scraping clang and the gobin guard peered in at the captives. It chuckled, "Feeling a little peckish are we? Never mind, we have a few scraps in the kitchens just for you." Gimli hurled a clump of filth with deadly accuracy through the hole. The head disappeared and gagging punctuated by snarls burst out from the other side. "Chew on that," he muttered. Legolas chuckled from his corner, "Well thrown, master dwarf!" Gimli looked up at him grimly, "It's all right for you, but I considered it a waste of good food. What does that tell you?" The elf answered him bluntly, "It tells me that you are being over fearful, my friend. If they had wanted us dead, we would be dead. You need not be afraid for your stomach."  
  
Gimli returned to his side of the cell. "We've been here for days. If they don't want us dead, what possible use could they have for us alive?"  
  
* * * * * *  
  
The elven host had been on the march for two whole days and nights. Ever at their head rode Gandalf, the end of his staff lighting their way by night and dispelling the shadows that clung to them. Steadily they made their way south towards the citadel of Saruman, deeper into enemy territory. On the third day they ran into a roving band of Orcs but these broke and fled before they could be dealt with. A dark pall of dense smoke was visible on the horizon and they headed straight for it. Day four dawned greyly and camp was pitched until such a time as the fog lifted. It was the first rest they had had in many long hours, but they needed it not, for the Elven-kind are enduring beyond the meagre strengths of mortal Men. In the largest tent, the lords of the army were closeted, discussing such things as would have to be prepared for in the coming battle. Despite her protests, Arwen was forbidden from entering the tent, and had at last retired sulking to her own. Polishing her sword thoughtfully she wondered about what use she would be in the coming battle. Naturally she had had training but that was hundreds of years ago and although she could still shoot as well as any other Elf, her swordplay probably left a lot to be desired. Holding the blade in front of her face she admired her reflection in the bright steel - time to test the swing. She walked over to the central pole and took an experimental swipe at it...  
  
"Sharp enough for you?" Elrohir asked sarcasticly as he helped her out of the wreckage. She said nothing, but stalked grandly away with her chin up, ignoring his amused stare. The fog had now lifted, and the host broke camp and continued on its way. Dominating the skyline was the imposing bulk of the tower of Orthanc and they steered in a wide circle around it to the East past Fangorn to avoid it. The plan was simple, to meet up with Celeborn and Galadriel at the Fords, and then proceed towards the Ring of Isengard. From there, it was not yet decided. If Frodo and the Ring were among the captives then it was absolutely imperative that a rescue attempt was made. Even if not, the details of the Quest could still be taken from the prisoners by torture, and the outcome would be grim then indeed, even more so if the rumours of an alliance between the Two Towers were true. Scouts were dispatched to search for possible ambushes - it would have been naive to suppose that Saruman had missed the arrival of two war-hosts before his very gates - and also to make contact with the Sylvan elves who would have reached the river first.  
  
As the day wore on, their path turned southwards. The scouts had returned and reported that their allies had arrived and were holding the crossings, but that there was no sign of enemies anywhere. At this, Gandalf looked worried and muttered something to Elrond, who nodded gravely. After a hurried consultation, it was agreed that Glorfindel and Arwen along with a company of archers would take up rearguard position in case of surprise attack. The lack of a response from the fortress was disturbing to say the least.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Saruman raised his hand and signalled to the closest orc captain. In accordance with some prearranged plan, the companies of Uruk-hai began to break up and head down the various shafts and tunnels. The wizard turned and left the balcony to continue to ascend the stairs. Aragorn, unsure of the purpose of the display, followed him until he reached the throne room where they had first met. Saruman sat down in his enormous carven seat and stared keenly at the man facing him. Aragorn felt very uncomfortable under that gaze, it felt as if layers of his mind were being searched through and discarded callously.  
  
"You may not wish to share your vision with me, but I can clarify it for you. Observe."  
  
The wizard lifted his staff and muttered something. A curious sensation enveloped the Ranger, a feeling of falling endlessly as the room he was in and everything within in faded to white. The brightness dazzled him and he closed his eyes to be rid of the pain of it. When at long last he dared to look again, he found himself to be at the summit of the Tower, standing on the black, carven roof, yet there was a feeling of emptiness and no sound was to be heard.  
  
"Walk forwards."  
  
The voice echoed in his mind and he obeyed unthinkingly, until he was standing at the very brink and could look straight down five hundred feet to the ground below.  
  
"Very good. Now, look towards the River, and you will see something that may be of interest to you."  
  
Aragorn did as he was bidden and found that he could suddenly see with amazing clarity. He beheld a large camp on the far side of the river, with two large groups of figures clad in bright mail moving towards it. The Sun flashed off their weapons and he was unable to see who they were. As he strained harder, the strange sensation returned and he came to himself lying on the stone floor again as he was after the first vision with the palantir. Sitting up suddenly, he turned to the wizard who was regarding him mockingly.  
  
"Yes, they were Elves. Your friends, come to rescue you at long last. No doubt the songs of their heroic attempt will be sung in the distant future, the song of the end of the Firstborn, as they were annihilated by the glorious army of Saruman. No doubt the lady Evenstar is among them, hoping to rescue her King of Gondor." Aragorn started at the mentioning of Arwen, obviously he had not kept that thought as secret as he had hoped.  
  
"Ah, so it was as I thought. You need not have any doubts about the matter, I have forseen my triumphant victory, smiting my enemies from the pinnacle of Orthanc. For I too have used the Stone, and it does not lie. Your friends will all be killed." Without pause for thought, the Ranger rose and hurled himself at his nemesis only to be met by a blast of light and heat that knocked him sideways to land on the stone with crushing force. Echoing laughter followed him into the blackness.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Arwen shuddered involutarily as a sudden chill passed over her. Glorfindel, who was riding next to her at the head of the rearguard, looked at her concernedly. "Are you not well, my lady?" She composed herself with difficulty and shook her head. "No, I am quite well, thank you." She avoided his keen glance and kept her eyes straight ahead and her thoughts to herself. They had met up with Celeborn and Galadriel at their camp by the Fords and after a brief rest were now heading straight for their target. The Sun's rays flashed off the smooth black stone of the Tower making it shine white. The stone wall encircling the stronghold was looming up ahead, the road they were following passed through it under an arch which contained a great set of double gates, forged of thick steel like to dragonscale in toughness. They were obviously barred and defended heavily.  
  
The impressive barricade was only a few hundred yards away now. In front of them in the midst of the Road was a pedestal with a huge carven white hand on it. As it caught the light it seemed to glow orange-red, a twisting fire - a warning of things to come. The Sun vanished behind black clouds from the East. Thunder growled in the distance. 


	5. Battle at the Fords of Isen

****************************** Chapter 5: Battle at the Fords of Isen  
  
The skies were now completely covered with grey clouds. The storm had overtaken them with frightning speed and now was right on top of them. Rain lashed down on the Elven army drawn up around the great gates, the occasional flash of lightning silhouetted the black tower against the sky, yet no response was forthcoming to their presence. Whipped up into a fury by the winds, the heavy clouds unloaded their entire burden onto the earth below. Undaunted, the heralds rode forth and blew horns to call forth the embassy of Saruman.  
  
The wait was not long, an answering call sounded from within over the tumult of the storm, and the Ambassador rode forth from the gates of the fortress. This was no Orc, but a Man who had pledged his allegiance to the corrupted White Wizard. He reigned up his horse in front of the leaders of the first company, and looked about him with a sneer. "Is this all that can be shown for the majesty and fabled power of the Firstborn? Pah! I will not waste words with a rabble of illiterate barn-dwellers and tree-huggers! Begone, and Saruman may allow you safe passage back to your hovels!" With that, he made to turn about and head away. The commanding voice of Gandalf rose in quiet wrath. "Be not so arrogant, traitor of Numenor, but return and hear what we have to say. Fail to comply, and things will go ill for you." The rider drew to a halt, and slowly turned to face him, smiling twistedly, "Very well, oh Grey Pilgrim. What is it that you and your... peasant militia wish to say?"  
  
"Only this: Saruman has friends of ours captive. We demand their release and his unconditional surrender of power to us, with which we will withdraw our forces from the gates of Isengard and trouble him no more. If not, his power can be broken by force, and we will rescue our friends by strength of arms."  
  
The Ambassador looked down on them from the rise in the road. He threw back his head and laughed uproarously, then glowered darkly, "Think you so? Be it known to you then that the power of Saruman is no longer limited to knowledge." With these words, he wheeled about and galloped through the gates. Horns began to sound from deep within the stone ring...  
  
* * * * * *  
  
"What is all this about?"  
  
Saruman slowly turned from the balcony to look inquiringly at Aragorn. "The fulfilment of what has been forseen, the beginning of the end. Care to watch?" Knowing by now that it was pointless to resist, the Ranger walked up and peered out into the gathering storm. He saw that the Elven alliance had drawn up by the gates, which were opening for a single horseman to ride out to them. "My emissary, riding out to parley with the mighty Elves, while I cower in my tower," The wizard smiled, "Must keep up appearances, you know. I shall play their little game, before I unleash their destruction. They do not truly believe that their miserable assembly can contend with the will of Saruman do they? Ha! Poor fools! Every moment they remain merely hastens their end. Behold." He pointed with one long finger at the openings in the ground. Aragorn's keen eyes caught the glistening of armour in the rain. The Orcs had not been dismissed after all! Even now they were mustered at the entrances to the tunnels, poised for attack! He watched from afar the emissary turning tail and galloping through the gates towards him. Horn blasts sounded above the dull roar of the rain as the Orcs prepared to spring the trap. Unseen in the room behind the balcony, the palantir began to glow a fierce orange...  
  
* * * * * *  
  
"After him! To me, to me!" Elrohir yelled, drawing his sword and charging after the retreating rider. His brother and around four score of the elven cavalry followed him through the gates. They rode down the doorwards and emerged from out of the arch to look down into the Circle, just in time to see the myriad of tunnels begin to spew out their vile load. The emerging Orcs raised their scimitars high and rushed bellowing at the elves. As one, the cavalry sheathed their swords and notching arrows, began firing into the advancing horde. The orcs were wearing plate armour, but the arrows of the elves, guided by hundreds of years of practice, always penetrated to kill. Nevertheless, as the enemy began to fall with feathered shafts sticking out of visor and neck, yet more leaped over them and continued the charge.  
  
"Back! Fall back, we must hold them at the gates!" The riders spoke to their mounts, and the horses began to back towards the archway while their riders kept up the withering hail of arrow-fire. The Ring of Isengard was now boiling with orcs, a shimmering black mass lit by the occasional flash of lightning, and they were quickly encroaching upon the arch. For each one that fell there were around twenty more to take its place. They leaped up the road snarling and barking , and the brothers realised that they would have to retreat before it became too late. "We can no longer hold them! To the Ford, quickly! Elrohir and I shall hold them back lest they rout us." Dismounting, they sent their horses after the rest of the fleeing cavalry. Drawing blades together, they stood under the arch and waited for the enemy.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Aragorn and Saruman witnessed the stand at the gate, and observed the last of the cavalry turn tail and race back out. The wizard's eyes were blazing with cold fire as he leaned out to gaze upon his creation. "You see! Was it not as I have forseen? I shall triumph over my enemies! Not for naught was my use of the palantir, what is seen is what is yet to come!" Aragorn ignored him and stared frantically around. He knew that his friends and loved ones were out there, fighting and dying and he yet was stuck up here, useless, powerless to help. Or was he? Looking back into the room behind, he was shocked to see the astounding change that had come over the seeing- stone. It was now glowing as fiercely as the Sun herself, brightly lighting the enormous room. Dimly he recalled something Gandalf had once said to him. "Perilous to us all are the devices of an art greater than that which we possess ourselves." Suddenly it all became clear to him, the palantir was the link between Orthanc and Barad'dur! He looked back. The wizard was oblivious to his presence, bending all his will towards the enfolding debacle below. His black staff was leaning against the wall behind him. Realising that such a chance would not come again, he leaned back and grabbed it. The black metal was icy-cold and very heavy, yet Aragorn lifted it with ease as if an unseen force was aiding him. Advancing into the room, he raised it high above his head and pronounced these words:  
  
"E'i'essa en'Elbereth aa'i'dhaeraow natulro leitha!"  
  
Hearing this, Saruman turned his attention back to his guest. Seeing at once what was happening, fear and rage came into his face, "You fool! What are you doing?" He raised an arm, but was too late. The hand gripping the staff came down, and the white orb touched the red. With a mighty blast of light and heat, Aragorn stumbled back and collapsed against the wall, the staff dropping with a clatter from his numbed fingers. The palantir shattered and the pieces collapsed inwards into a ball of red fire. The wrought and carven stand, buckling and molten, was drawn upwards into the mass which promptly exploded outwards. The flash of light blinded him for several minutes with the after-image, and when he could see again, he was greeted by the sight of the White Wizard, his robes covered in soot, hurrying up the stairs to higher levels. Aragorn thought about giving chase, but remembered Arwen. Leaping over the scarred and smoking ruts in the floor, he raced down the stairs on the other side, after seizing his sword from where it hung on the wall. Ever as he descended the stairs his chilling vision of the future was prevailant in his mind. If what Saruman had said was true, and the future could not be changed, then he was purusing a doomed hope, yet he was not just going to sit idly by and let her be killed. Orcs guarding the bottom of the stairs were hewed down as he passed. The main door was locked, but the postern had been opened and he passed through it like a whirlwind.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Gandalf and Elrond stood aghast as the cavalry came rushing back out of the archway. One of them rode up to the two and, reigning in his horse, spoke hurredly. "It is a trap! There are many thousands of Orcs in Ordonost, of a size and ferocity we have not seen the like of before! We must hold them in, else we will be speedily overrun. My lord Elrond, your sons are holding the Arch against them, but we must aid them." Gandalf responded quickly, "Go, old friend, take with you your hardiest folk and hold the entrance. Send archers into the Towers. I shall recall the rearguard." He wheeled round and galloped between the ranks towards the Fords. The First Company hastened into the gateway followed by some hundred of the best archers in Lorien who mounted the stairs into the fortified turrets on the roof, which also gave access to the walls. Celeborn and Galadriel were with Elrond when he joined the fray beside his sons. However, even though the initial assault by the Orcs had failed, and even though they were fleeing down the road being picked off by the archers of Lorien, the armies of Saruman had been trained in the use of many and varied weapons. The remainder of the Orcs had regrouped just out of range, and were now being joined by the main body of the army, the great companies of Uruk-hai. They were pulling out of the bowels of the earth a massive siege catapult. Its beam was a fashioned from a single massive tree, the scaffold was of iron and the sling of mail. A team of trolls followed behind dragging carts of munitions. The huge machine was halted on the road some several hundred yards from the Gate, and the huge dull-witted beasts began to load it. The Elves did not waste arrows on the shield wall in front, but withdrew inside the arch to await the onslaught. The Orcs had to drive them out of the way in order to themselves get out and engage on open ground, where, by virtue of their superior numbers, they would have the victory. Therefore, the Gate must be held against them for as long as possible.  
  
Suddenly, with a whirr of released tension, the mighty weapon flung its load far into the sky where it was lost to sight against the black clouds. Yet, by some secret art, it burst into flame in midair and came screaming down onto the curtain wall some dozen yards off-target. The payload exploded cracking the stone and raining debris and blackened masonry down on the Elves drawn up outside. Those inside felt the impact through even the thick walls of the Arch. Looking down the tunnel, it could be seen that the machine was being reloaded for another shot. Elrond turned to Gandalf. "Dearest friend and counsellor, this seems to be our final hour. Yet, death may be a blessing should we fail here. We are stuck, being worn down like a nest of vermin. I would not have it so. I am going to mount and ride with the cavalry, we shall try to destroy the device. You take command, and, should anything happen to me, look out for my children." Without another word he left and mounting his fine warhorse called out to the others. With a fearsome war-cry, they raced out of the arch, towards the black mass of Orcs. As he rode, Elrond became aware that a dull glow was coming out of the windows of Orthanc, and that a tiny white figure was visible upon the peak." Saruman," he thought, "so you have shown yourself to witness my fate?" At that very moment a crash and echoing report came from the sky above his head. A bolt of lightning arced down from the sky to strike the carts of explosive munitions behind the catapult.  
  
With an ear-splitting detonation the mighty war machine, its crew and a large chunk of the protecting forces were instantly desintegrated. A pillar of flame rose a hundred feet into the air. Writhing bodies and charred beams were flung in all directions. The charging elves drew up suddenly, shocked. The Orcs were even more surprised and for a moment there was deadly silence, punctuated only by the swish of the rain. Again a bolt came down, this time entering one of the great pits from whence the Orcs had emerged. The underground reservoir was vapourised and the scalding steam began to issue from the vents. Yelling in dismay, the Orcs broke in disarray and began to withdraw. With a yell of triumph, the Elven army pursued them into the acrid fog - rearguard and all, hewing them down as they fled. However, the forces of evil are never so easily routed. Saruman had also recruited divisions of the cruel Haradrim, swarthy men who had always been ready to the will of the Dark Lord. The leader of this band of mercenaries was a stalwart captain, wearing the finest armour and higly skilled with his mace of steel. Caped in red, he strode through the mist seeking quarry. He had been very active in the battle and had already killed several Elves.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Aragorn burst through the guards at the door of Orthanc to find himself swathed in mist. He ran along the Road, as best as he could judge, occasionally catching glimpses of figures within the mist, yet he heeded them not. His mastering desire was to fing Arwen and prevent her death. The image from his vision was clear in his mind, and he knew that she was fighting somewhere in the mist. He ran suddenly into a clear patch and came face to face with a rag-tag group of Orcs who seemed in no mood to fight. Anduril burned as he cleaved his way through them. He was suddenly joined by Elrohir who seemed in a similar mood. Dispatching their foes, he turned to Aragorn, "Some of our number have headed underground to free the prisoners. Was Frodo among them? Has the Ring been taken?" Aragorn stared numbly back, "Arwen, she's in danger... I must go." Without another word, he raced off desperately. The landscape and images suddenly became terribly familiar. The mists cleared and he saw her...  
  
As he remembered, she was busily engaged skewering some hapless goblins who were doing their best to get out of her way. He ran towards her and yelled, but it was drowned out by a crash of thunder from right overhead. He raised his sword. She was still a few hundred yards away. But the mist behind her blackened, and a huge dark figure strode out behind her. The mace rose and fell with a terrific swipe knocking her to her knees. Legs apart, like an executioner, it raised the weapon for a two-handed blow.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
The arrow whined past Aragorn's ear and flew, straight and true, to embed itself in the figure's neck. It staggered back and leaned upon it's weapon, while with its other hand it yanked out the arrow. The delay was all that was needed. Aragorn saw Arwen pull a white dagger out of a sheath and, rising, plunge it through the visor of her foe, who crashed to the ground. He raced up to her, overjoyed. "I never knew you had it in you!" was the best he could come up with. She smiled wearily at him after yanking her blade out of the fallen opponent. "He never knew he had it in him either!" she murmured, before falling into his arms.  
  
Legolas strode up behind the two, bow in hand. "Seems like I arrived in the nick of time," he said, smiling broadly. The mists cleared around the three, and all that could be seen was the Elves striding amongst the ruins and prone Orcs.  
  
The storm had passed. 


	6. Homewards Bound, end of Part 1

******************************* Chapter 6: Homewards Bound  
  
With the destruction of the palantir, Saruman the Wise was freed from the control of the Dark Lord. While Saruman, Gandalf and the Elves plan to move into Gondor to the aid of Minas Tirith, Aragorn remembers a verse of Malbereth the Seer from his youth, and resolves to head Northwards to the lost kingdom of Arnor - his homeland of old - to seek the fabled Dome of Fire and a weapon that might change the course of the War of the Ring ...  
  
Meanwhile Sauron, his nefarious plans undone, burns with firey rage on his throne of stone ... ... and no news has been had of Frodo, or the Ring ...  
  
Even from the Gap of Rohan, to which the Elven army had now removed, black clouds tinged with red could clearly be seen over Mordor. Gandalf and Saruman were standing at the outskirts of the camp, watching the storm silently.  
  
"Sauron's wrath is terrible to behold. I fear he will wreak his vengeance on the kingdom of Gondor, and his blow will fall hardest on Minas Tirith. It will go ill with that city if we do not ride to her aid soon," mused Gandalf.  
Saruman nodded slowly, "But no matter his hatred of Anarion's city, there will always be a special black spot in his heart for ..." He gestured towards where Aragorn was sitting with Arwen, a few hundred yards away. "He will have to endure terrible trials ere the end."  
  
"You believe Sauron will seek the heir of Isildur, even when he is too distant to be a threat?" inquired Gandalf, bushy eyebrows raised.  
  
"Sauron is grown great in malice and power, but he is still petty and will not forget his own grievances against Aragorns ancestry. If he rides with us to the White City, it will no doubt provoke the Dark Lord to intercept us before we can get there, with a force many times our number," muttered Saruman.  
  
"But he would never stay behind! Not with such a great doom hanging over his people ..."  
  
"Yet if he comes he would be useless to us. To survive a battle where every weapon of the enemy thirsts for his blood, and every black heart is keen to slay the King of Men, he will need his whole mind focussed on the task at hand. And he will not ... "  
  
They watched as the couple exchanged a kiss  
  
Gandalf looked to his superior, "Because of her?"  
  
Saruman nodded grimly, "I fear that, in the heat of battle, his feelings for her will prove the undoing of both of them." He sighed. "But it is not for us to steer his fate, as always, the choice lies with him."  
  
* * * * *  
  
Aragorn stroked Arwens hair. "You should not have come after me," he chided gently, "It could have turned out worse for both of us." She laid down on the grass and put her head in his lap. She looked up at him lovingly, reached up, and gently pulled the Evenstar jewel out on its thin chain. She clasped the jewel in one small hand. "Remember what I said to you? This is my heart, I give it to whom I choose. And I'll always follow my heart."  
"But what if ..." he began again... She whacked his shoulder playfully. "Don't lecture me! As Father knows, it doesn't work! And anyway, I'm older than you!" He grinned and rolled her off into the grass, "That's not fair! I've heard your brother mention the tent episode though." She glared at him. "Surely you're old enough to know better?" he inquired loftily. She dived at him and they rolled around in the grass, laughing. Elrond and Galadriel were looking on, trying to hide smiles. At last, Aragorn recovered his dignity and sat up. Arwen was lying in the grass watching him. He looked at her, bemused, then nodded towards her relations. She craned her head around, following his gaze, and saw her father and grandmother. A rosy blush fell across her fair face and she waved cheekily but muttered, "Great, that's really made their decade. I'll never live this down." She looked back to see Aragorn staring wistfully at the mountains. She nudged him with her foot, "Hey, Moody, what is it?" No response. She got up and sat down next to him. Her hand found his, and she kissed his cheek. He squeezed her hand gently in appreciation. Concerned, she looked at his face, "Something is troubling you isn't it? You've been lapsing into thinking surprisingly often for a Ranger. That can't be good." He smiled at her, but his face fell into melancholy again. "I keep having these dreams about the future. While in Orthanc," and he nodded darkly towards the black tower, "they were about you, but now that you are safe ..." She looked at him worriedly. "Carry on," she prompted. He sighed. "I cannot, it is all too confusing and disturbing. Before, I felt that I should journey to Gondor, and that the time to take up the kingship was at hand ... but now I feel that there are two paths I can tread in the war against Sauron, and my mind is torn." She took his hand and placed it on his chest. "Then follow the path your heart tells you, that is what I have always done." He looked at her gratefully. "Then I am decided. I shall travel northwards to Imladris, and then beyond, to chase my destiny in the cold Northlands. For there is a verse that my mother, Gilraen, told to me before her death. She said the Seer, Malbereth, spake it over me in my infancy:  
  
'The streams of Fate are by mountains fed. Mountains blue with caverns red. Through fires scorching, white is seen Of blade of night, Starlight's gleam. Wrought in ages long since faded. Lost in battle to evil jaded. Forged of steel silver bright, No more remain in shadow of night Eternal. Oh Blade of Kings, be borne Once more to war, he who was shorn Of power waxes stronger in might. Oh remain you no longer in night. Bauglir's Bane, best evil again, and rest no more till torn in twain.'  
  
Arwen looked puzzled. "I know 'Bauglir' was another name for Morgoth, the Great Enemy, but this verse makes no sense to me. I know not of any weapon that was used against him." She stared thoughtfully at the ground, before looking up, "I know, we will go to my father, he is learned in lore. Maybe the Wizards too will know something of this?"  
  
* * * * *  
  
Elrond looked grim after Aragorn repeated the lines. "We will speak naught of Morgoth, may his name be spoken with scorn. Suffice to say that 'Bauglir's Bane' was the great sword Ringil, also known as Starlight, born by the Elven king Fingolfin in his duel against the Evil one. Although he was killed, Ringil inflicted many wounds on the Enemy, and being wrought of mithril, rendered his sable armour useless. What became of it afterwards I do not know. Fingolfin's body was borne away by Thorndor, the King of the Eagles and laid in a tomb among the eyeries of the Northern Mountains. Of the weapon, who can say?  
  
Saruman stepped forward, "I can. During the time I was still wandering these lands I heard rumour of the sword from dwarven scouts. During the Battle of Five Armies, so the greybeards say, a division of goblins scaled the mountains for a tactical advantage. They found and plundered the tomb, but that division never made it to the battle. It is said that the Shadow Hand of Morgoth rose up in flame and smote the bearers of the Sword. Perhaps it is still in the mountains somewhere, but I have no doubt it is cursed. It would be folly to seek it."  
  
Aragorn looked at them all tiredly. "I cannot say whether this be folly or nay, but it is what I believe is my path in this war against Sauron. Maybe Narsil should be laid to rest in Imladris, for now anyway. Perhaps an heir of mine in the future shall stand in need of it, but I seek Ringil, weapon of the Elves." Arwen stood next to him. "Where you go, I go." Elrond covered his face with his hands. "Not again," he muttered. Saruman looked at them. "Do you wish to be the Fellowship of the Sword? Or the Two Riders perhaps? Aragorn shook his head. "We shall be nameless and numberless, at least until if ... when we return. Then we shall be the heralds of Destiny, or war against the Dark Lord, and maybe of suffering and death." He drew himself together, "But it shall be they who will suffer! We will prevail, the Last Alliance as of old. Elves and Men, united against evil! Take the army and head towards Gondor and ruin." He turned to Gandalf, "You, my most trusted advisor and teacher, take care of my people until we return" Elrond smiled, "And you had better take care of my daughter. But you shall not ride north alone, Galadriel and I shall accompany you, at least as far as Rivendell. Celeborn, Glorfindel, and my sons will lead our people to war."  
  
At this moment, Legolas and Gimli barged their way forwards. "And we ride with you, all the way!" "Caverns, eh? Sounds like work for a Dwarf to me," growled Gimli, hefting his axe "And we swore to stay true to each other, until the end," chipped in Legolas, "So I'm in as well!" Gimli grunted, "We overheard what we're up against. Cursed swords, evil ghosts, Dark Lords ... all in a days work!" Aragorn embraced his loyal friends. "Then it is decided, We ride North!" 


	7. There Are Many Paths To Tread, beginnin...

**Chapter 7: There are Many Paths to Tread  
**  
_Trials of Love: Book Two_

_Extract from 'The Lay of Elessar' in verse form. It tells of Aragorns  
journey Northwards with Arwen, Legolas and Gimli on the quest to find the  
fabled Dome of Fire and the long lost sword Ringil, which might offer them  
hope against the Dark Lord Sauron, lest he reclaim the Ring and assume  
physical form once more ..._  
  
Looming doom, in sable tower,  
That fortress, dark Barad-dur,  
Saurons wrath, new rekindled  
Roared anew, as night dwindled.  
Great Eye, wreathed in flame,  
Scoured his domain in vain.  
A Ring he sought, a Ring  
That treacherous golden thing  
Long lost, then found, then boldly  
Carried back to its domain of old.  
  
Yet the hidden King of Men  
With noble companions and fair Arwen  
Did choose a path loth to take  
Away from war, away from fate  
Into the North, a sword to seek  
Lest strength of arms should prove too weak  
And Saurons Ring he should recover,  
And all lands with darkness he sought to cover.  
  
Oaths he took, and ride he did  
Far North by ways long lost, oft hid.  
Companions of the Dunedain he took  
And Elrond in Imladris forsook.  
With danger always his path was fraught  
Yet of these things he suffered naught  
With mail of steel and hauberk gilded,  
Ork and thrall he justly bested.  
Legolas, with elven bow brought down  
All those serving the Dark Lords crown.  
  
Riding far and fast by day  
Resting long and deep by night  
Hills and vales, they passed away  
As shadows leap, as birds in flight...  
  
AUTHORS NOTE:  
Chapter Eight (coming soon!) will be back in the traditional prose, thank  
God! :-) Had to write this filler chapter in order to move the characters  
into the right place without boring people with the long uneventful  
journey! But fear not! Our heroes are going to have to face many dangerous  
and terrible trials, which is what we all want to read about!


	8. Battle at the Roof of the World

**Chapter 8: Battle at the Roof of the World**  
  
_The landscape was a drear, grey, featureless desert of ice and rock. Riven with cracks and rent by crevasses bleeding noisome vapours it was as inhospitable an environment as could be found anywhere on Middle-earth. Nothing lived here, the last vestiges of life eked out a miserable existence many miles to the south or deep underground where it was warmer. Living beasts found little sympathy in the harsh biting cold of Forodwaith. Yet winding between the twisted and wind blasted ice pinnacles were tracks, still fresh ..._  
  
It was now many months that had passed since Aragorn, Arwen, Legolas and Gimli had pledged to journey Northwards and recover the Elven sword Ringil from its rumoured resting place. Driven to this desperate undertaking by fear of Sauron reclaiming the One Ring, it seemed that their journey was destined to end here. Their path had forced them along an ancient road, towering ice cliffs rose on one side, a fathomless cravasse on the other. Bitter snows had blinded them for days and hailstorms had driven them to their knees, and now, food was running out.  
  
A bright fire burned in one of the caves which pockmarked the cliff. Caution against being seen had long been forgotten - if one wanted to survive a night in this place, heat was a necessity. Besides, nothing was around to see, or so they hoped. The small party huddled close to the meagre blaze which a few long-dead trees had afforded. Although they had been heavy hearted of late, with the finding and following of the old road, their spirits had lifted, and in celebration Aragorn and Gimli were smoking the last of their pipe-weed together. The road would hopefully lead them to the Dome of Fire or at least to a clue as to its whereabouts. If not, it made for quicker journeying anyway.  
  
Aragorns face lit up briefly with the glow from his pipe. He looked across the fire to Gimli. "We are nearing the end of our journey, I can feel it. Soon we shall reclaim the Sword, and then leave this land to its ghosts."  
  
He shivered and Arwen stirred restlessly on his shoulder, before slipping into deeper sleep again. Legolas looked at her, "How is the Lady faring, Aragorn?"  
  
"Not well," was the reply, "the cold seems to be getting to her more than us. Yet she has always refused to turn back, even when you offered to take her back to Rivendell, Legolas. I hope for her sake this is over soon." There was an uneasy silence for a while, then Gimli snorted: "Hmpf, perhaps a Ranger can live on naught but snow and bark, but a Dwarf needs more! I would gladly face Sauron and all his horde for a platter of mutton and a keg of malt beer!"  
  
The Ranger smiled, "Do not speak words of ill omen, friend Gimli, for if we fail here your wish might come true. But fear not, we have food for a few days yet, and we should be on the return journey by then." He leaned over to pick up one of the arrowshafts Legolas had been carving. "With luck we will not need these," he muttered to himself.  
  
"But it is best to be prepared." he added as an afterthought.  
  
As the Sun set behind the White Mountains, the last of its rays hit the walls of Minas Tirith and made them glow briefly, before the gloom of dusk settled over the city.  
  
"The last Sun has set on the City of Men," mused Gandalf, "I pray it may withstand to see the dawn once more."  
  
A flock of ravens, Saruman's spies, had reported a mighty army of Mordor leaving the Black Gate, and now an unnatural darkness was rolling towards the City on the fell winds of the Black Land. Matters were taking a grim turn for the worse.  
  
Dawn's pale fingers crept into the cave, over the slumbering companions and the embers of their fire. Wearily they rose, their outer garments cracking with frost, and rubbed life back into chilled limbs. Camp - what there was of it - was broken, and they set out upon the trail once more. However there was a lingering disquiet among the group.  
  
Legolas was the most uneasy. He kept scanning the immense cliffs above and the road ahead and behind, but saw nothing. Aragorn noticed this and fell into step with his friend, "I sense it too, it is as if we are being watched. Malice lies heavy in the air." The Elf sighed, "I cannot see anything, but I know something is wrong. However there is little we can do except press onwards." Aragorn nodded and they continued in silence for a while. Just ahead of them Arwen stumbled over a broken flagstone and almost fell. Aragorn seized her arm and began to help her up but she shook him off violently and snapped: "Let go of me!" He recoiled, startled, and her expression softened. "I'm sorry," she whispered, "I didn't mean that, I just ..." She broke off and looked up, startled, as did everyone. What had started as a low rumble swiftly built into an echoing roar and they saw with horror that parts of the cliff above were moving!  
  
"Landslide!" roared Aragorn as he yanked Arwen out of the way just in time. They ran back the way they had come, as thousands of tons of ice and rock smashed into the road and poured over the side. However a second cascade blocked off the retreat and the four companions were forced to huddle against the cliff to shelter from the deadly hail of ice. Chunks hitting the road exploded into shards which whizzed through the air and rattled off the cliff. Fortunately the fall was short-lived. It slowed to a trickle and then ceased, but now that the noise had stopped an all too familiar sound reached their ears. Looking up the cliff side they saw dozens of figures scampering nimbly down the sheer edge. Aragorn looked up at them in despair, he remembered their like from the dark halls of Moria. As he stared the shrill yammering and bleating of the goblins echoed in triumph - they had their quarry caught. A sharp twang startled the Ranger out of his reverie. With a shrill scream one of the goblins fell from the cliff and bounced onto the road with a sickening crunch. Legolas loosed another arrow, but then the shrieking foes were onto the path and gleefully engaging the weary travellers. Gimli hefted his axe and waded in to start lopping heads left and right. Aragorn's sword swung whistling through the air, meeting its mark every time. Legolas had changed to his two long knives and was a whirling demon of fury, each dead goblin a testament to the long feud between their races.  
  
Arwen however was beginning to have problems. Having drawn her father's sword she had dispatched a few of the enemy with ease and sent another sailing off the road into the yawning crevasse with a well timed kick. Now she saw that she was becoming seperated from her friends. Whether by accident or design, the swarming goblins were beginning to enclose her against the cliff. Yelling for help she started to hack her way industriously back to her companions who were now aware of her danger. But then the goblins struck.  
  
From the cliff above, one jumped onto her back, forcing her to pinwheel her arms wildly for balance. Then her feet were knocked out from under her and she fell heavily into the snow. More descended from the cliff, one jumped onto her chest and leered at her. "Get off me you vermin!" she hissed and slammed the hilt of her sword into its face sending it flying, but by then the biting chittering mob was all over her in a flurry of heat and sudden weight. Faintly she heard the yells of the others coming to her aid but they were too far. Something yanked at her sword but she held on grimly and tried to rise. Then clawed hands held her sword-arm down and she felt long teeth bury themselves in her wrist. Arwen squealed and let go. She struggled to her knees but was felled to the ground again, the breath knocked sharply out of her, and she lay still for a second - winded. Then there was a weight upon her back and cold, rough hands wrapped themselves around her throat and squeezed tightly. She struggled, but in vain, and the waiting darkness flowed in front of her eyes and took her. 


	9. A Terrible Encounter and a Choice to Mat...

**Chapter 9: A Terrible Encounter and a Choice to Match**  
  
Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli were well aware of Arwen's danger even before she was. Together they hacked their way towards her but were delayed by the sheer number of goblins. It seemed as if the whole mountain had come alive with the yammering vermin. Many were felled to the ground or hurled, shrieking, into the abyss, but they had still not reached her by the time she was finally brought down by the pack.  
  
"Back you dogs!" roared Aragorn as he gave a ferocious swipe with his sword. Three of the enemy fell headless. Gimli drew a throwing axe and hurled it into the throat of another. Legolas had slaughtered a space in which to shoot from, and was proceeding to do so. And so the black tide was turned back - the goblins were steadily giving ground, their excited yells echoing up the cliff face. But just as the three companions were finally making their presence felt, a group of the enemy began to swarm back up the side of the cliff, dragging the limp body of the elf-maiden behind them. Legolas snarled something, drawing his bow in a heartbeat and sending swift death to one of the goblins. The rest then slipped into a crack in the cliff face, hauling their prize in behind. And she was gone. Just like that.  
  
"After them!" Aragorn bounded towards the wall of rock with the intention of clawing his way up. Just as he reached it an ululating bellow rang out from above. A huge shape leaped from the hidden bolthole, amidst a flurry of ice and rock, to crash down on the path with enough force to splinter the flagstones. Within the rising cloud of dust and debris a huge hulking form raised itself from its knees, then turned to face the three. Clutching a huge mattock in each hand, the snow troll blinked stupidly at them.  
  
The elf and dwarf exchanged meaningful glances. Although huge and dull- witted, trolls were fearsome and deceptively fast opponents. This one had already recovered from its surprise and began to advance, swinging its hammers ponderously from side to side. However, Legolas and Gimli's concern was not shared by Aragorn, who looked as if he would gladly hack his way through a dozen trolls to get to Arwen. The knowledge that she was even now being taken deeper into ork territory lent him a strength and purpose he had never felt before. Holding his sword ready, he drew his dagger and sprinted straight at the troll!  
  
"Strider! What are you doing?" yelled Legolas, starting forwards.  
  
"Aragorn you'll be killed!" Gimli barked, drawing a throwing axe from his belt.  
  
"Hwoaar?" mumbled the troll, again confused.  
  
It swung one hammer in a broad arc straight at him. Aragorn dived forwards and rolled under its legs - just as the weapon's head collided with the cliff, sending a shower of ice fragments skittering across the road. The hammer's head was embedded in the cliff face. The troll looked over its shoulder as it worked the weapon loose to see the Ranger standing behind it, notching an arrow to his bow. Roaring, it tore the hammer free and swung both of them all the way around to smash into the cliff again. Aragorn had not moved, the lethal blows had just missed him. Raising his bow he sent an arrow straight into the troll's throat.  
  
The troll stopped dead in its tracks. One hand released its hammer, the weapon fell to the road, sending up a puff of snow. The hand went up to the neck and felt the arrow there - it ripped it out and crushed it in a huge fist. Clasping the haft of its remaining weapon in both hands the troll raised it high above its head, meaning to finish off the source of its irritation with one final blow. Aragorn wasted no time. He tossed his bow to one side and drew his sword once more. As the deadly weapon whistled down he leaped back. The hammer struck the road with terrifying force, sending smashed pieces of paving flying every which way. Quick as a flash the Ranger ran straight up the haft of the huge weapon, up the trolls right arm and jumped onto its back. The huge beast started to lumber around, trying to swat him off. Aragorn slipped and fell face first onto the troll's shoulder. He had drawn his dagger in his other hand and now slammed it into the troll's hide to keep from falling off. He reached with his sword arm around and under the beast's jaw and slashed the throat wide with one decisive cut.  
  
The troll let out one final, mournful, moan. Then it tumbled forwards onto the road with an almighty crash. Aragorn clambered off its back wearily, but no time was afforded to the three to celebrate. After the avalanche, this battle was the final straw for the ancient causeway. Chunks of rock and ice fell onto the road from above as the flagstones beneath their feet started to shift and slide towards the crevasse.  
  
"Run!" the three yelled simultaneously as they turned and sped ahead with their last reserves of strength. Behind them came a splintering noise, and an ominous rumbling built up. Risking a quick glance behind showed they had passed the danger zone. A great section of the road behind had all but disappeared. A yawning gap rimmed with broken paving was left behind, looking disturbingly like a gaping maw lined with teeth. Dust billowed up in a steady stream from the blasted crater. The three travellers felt the skin on their backs crawl as they themselves scanned the area for any further surprises. However the land was silent, as if it too had exhausted itself and was even now settling into a watchful rest. No sound was to be heard. Legolas and Gimli stood next to Aragorn and surveyed the scene in silence. It was up to him to dictate their path now.  
  
Aragorn himself gazed at the far-away crack in the mountainside, now beyond their reach. His eyes were glazed over and his hands were clenched into fists by his side, but he would not weep - although he could. He could have bawled his eyes out in the snow, forgetting any commitment to his companions, his people, or any others who's fate rested in his hands. It would serve no purpose, at the end she would still be gone, and he would still be here. For a moment he almost convinced himself that he could have left her behind - but then he remembered the fierce light in her eyes when he had mentioned that, a few hundred years ago, in the fields outside Isengard. She would never have suffered him to go without her, and although she would doubtless have remained if he had forced the issue, to do so would have taken something away from her spirit, something that had made him fall in love with her in the first place.  
  
He had just never even considered the possibility that something could happen to her. His own thoughts sounding ridiculous even to himself, but he never thought her the type to be defeated. Even after the terrible battle at the feet of Orthanc when the mace of the enormous Captain of the Haradrim had knocked her to the ground, she had still managed to kill him. Although her body was wounded and broken, her spirit had raged splendid and invincible.  
  
And for what? For this? For her, his love, beautiful beyond measure, immortal, to be taken by a degenerate rabble of warped beasts, which would not see three score of years? It was horribly ... unfair. She had braved everything to prove her dedication to him, to be taken in just the same way as her mother had been.  
  
He realised that his eyes were closed. He opened them slowly and stared at the hole in the mountain, a hole like an eye  
  
(you'll never find her she's gone dead taken forever)  
  
He jerked violently as the vision faded. The Eye of Sauron. Even here he could feel the strength of the Dark Lord's malice against him. Had he devised this trap purposefully? Just for Arwen? Just to spite him? A smouldering fire raged in his eyes. To hell with the quest and his duty. He would pursue those vermin to the ends of Middle-earth if need be. He would take back the body of his Arwen, his wife-to-be. And then they would feel his wrath. Oh yes. They would burn.  
  
Legolas rested one hand on his shoulder, as if sensing his mood, and Aragorn swiftly felt the anger seeping away. He had almost lost control, and of course that was what Sauron wanted, to lure him away to a death in the wilderness. No more King of Gondor. Well, the blood heir of Isildur would see about that. Aragorn turned to his companions, stony faced. "We continue on our journey. It is time to bring this thing to an end, one way or another."  
  
As they fell into step behind him Aragorn felt a thought lurking deep within his soul. He gave a last backward glance at the bolthole and turned to the road again, hating himself for thinking it but thinking it all the same. He hoped Arwen, for her own sake, was already dead.  
  
Faintly, in his mind, he could still feel the soiling presence of Sauron. Strengthening his will, he crushed it, but he sensed the Dark Lord's mood and it brought a mirthless grin to his lips.  
  
It felt like _fear._


	10. Faded Glory , Black Despair

**Chapter 10: Faded Glory / Black Despair**  
  
This was a place of ghosts.  
  
_In the distant past, bold explorers had roamed the whole of Middle-earth, pushing back the borders of the dominion of Man. Many had settled across the land, wherever the earth and beasts could be put to work for their new masters. One such a place was the city-state of Forod-dhun. It was situated on a plain of rocky wasteland with its back to the frozen Sea. Fifty or so leagues north of Forochel Bay – where was its port – it was the northernmost bastion of men before one reached the Bluetooth Mountains, an impenetrable wall of rock and ice which marked the roof of the world. Although the northlands were always cold, the alchemists of old had discovered black rocks and liquids that burned far fiercer than the driest kindling. With these, the rime of ice covering the soil could be cleared back, and the lands cultivated.  
  
Forod-dhun had prospered on the profits gained by stripping the wastes of their metals and selling the ore to the Southerners. Dwarves in particular were known to have had some lucrative dealings with the city in the past, although all that was no longer spoken of. Unless one could loosen their tongues with beer, the dwarven race was notoriously shady about their past dealings. Be that as it may, the wise men of Forod-dhun were students of the sons of Fëanor himself and utterly dedicated to their city and their people.  
  
Then came the war with Morgoth, and all throughout the North the cities of Elves and Men were made strong, and the hills and vales scoured by the unsleeping eyes of innumerable sentries. However hosts of demons and orcs issued unceasingly from Morgoth's fortress in the Iron Mountains, and a reign of terror descended on the land. Order became chaos; fair was despoiled, pure was ravaged, and whole armies annihilated each other in an orgy of destruction that raged for years.  
  
Forod-dhun itself was assailed several times. Morgoth was aware of the wealth of knowledge in its tomes and riches in its coffers, and hungered for it. Yet the citizens had not been idle, and every spare moment had been spent in turning the city into a citadel that could withstand the Gods themselves – if it came to that. However, after futile and bloody assaults, Morgoth was content to set the fields to fire and surround the city. Hunger and disease soon set in once the last of the food stocks were eaten. Withered astrologers sought solace from the unforgiving stars, and emaciated women stripped leather from the rich furnishings to feed their wailing children. Misery and fear stalked the dark streets at night like twin reapers.  
  
With confidence in the city leaders dwindled to nothing, people and soldiers alike found a way to forget their hunger pangs by bickering with each other. The walls were undermanned, and few there were left with strength enough to crew the fearsome engines mounted on the walls. Dusk began to fall over the city – the last some within would ever see. And now the force of Morgoth poured from the mountain passes as congealing blood from a wound, until the once white plain was black with them. The besiegers moved forwards and began the assault, and this time they were successful. Nets of crushed rock were thrown into the moat until it was filled, and countless ladders were raised at the walls. Many were cast down in ruin, but not enough. Barely an hour had passed before the enemy had seized the gates and opened them, and the slaughter began.  
  
The next day, the plumes of smoke could be seen twenty miles away. The city was now an empty ruin, save for the bodies of its former army, which lay strewn about the streets, some hacked beyond recognition. The rest of the populace had been taken in chains by the departing army – to serve as ambulatory trail rations for the homeward journey – or to eke out a miserable existence as slaves in the bowels of Morgoth's fortress until overwork or brutal treatment killed them.  
  
With the loss of its people, the wandering ice quickly swallowed up the deserted city. In time its story became myth, and myth became legend.  
_  
"Now, that's an impressive sight..." muttered Gimli as they followed the road out from the last of the hills. A plain of ice and snow stretched out before them, and perched in the middle of it like some malevolent bird of prey was a metropolis of stone and steel. Within the forbidding curtain wall, broken towers reared up to the heavens, looking for all the world like the bones of some huge beast silhouetted against the sky. The road led straight towards the main gate a few hundred yards ahead, a dread portal of iron in walls like a cliff face.  
  
It yawned invitingly open.  
  
"I don't suppose it would do any good if I said I had a bad feeling about that place?" snorted the Dwarf. "Like as not you'd still go on in. And me with you," he added with a sigh. The three started warily down the road towards their goal. Legolas surveyed the city skyline, shading his eyes with one slender hand. "Aragorn, I do not see any domes among the buildings, are you sure this Dome of Fire really exists?" The Ranger said nothing for a moment, then visibly gathered his thoughts. "Yes, yes I am quite certain. However, it may be on the other side of the city, which means we will have to go inside." He paused, as if uncertain, then continued. "I never mentioned this before, but I have been having dreams ... or visions, I know not which. In these, I have been within what I believe to be the place itself. It is vast inside, and we should have no trouble in spotting it when we get close. For now, it will suffice that we must search the city. Come with me."  
  
They went on in silence for several minutes.  
  
Legolas looked at his friend in concern. "Aragorn, there is something else you are keeping from us, I can see it. What was it that you saw in your visions?  
  
Aragorn shuddered as it came back. This time it was more powerful ... more insistent, he could feel it taking him. The last things he saw were the flagstones coming up to meet him.

* * *

_Pain, always the pain. Biting, vengeful and assertive, the one thing guaranteed to wake you up from peaceful unconsciousness was pain. Each time it was the same. Sometimes it seemed as if your entire body was being devoured, and those were the good times._  
  
The roof above swam into focus as the figure on the stone table moaned and opened her eyes. This was one of the times when there was a difference, not the dull roar of her nerves against the cruel manacles holding her wrists and ankles to the rock – that was unending, but this was different, almost as if she was being watched over. Yet it was not disquieting, but comforting. How could that be?  
  
Sweat rolled down Arwen's forehead into her eyes and she blinked it away furiously. This was another thing, the stifling heat that made merely breathing a labour. The very stone on which she was lying seemed to have a heart of flame, the prickly heat flowed through the thin material of her robe into her back. Little time was afforded her to lament her condition, as a guttural snarl interrupted her reverie.  
  
"What've we got 'ere then, a pretty little maiden caught playing in the snow? You'd have been better of picking flowers in the forest, my dear!"  
  
Arwen raised her head and looked down the table towards the speaker. A hideous goblin-imp was sitting casually on the bottom of the stone table by her feet, smirking at her. She gave the creature a look that would have curdled milk, then went back to gazing at the roof.  
  
And had to bite back a scream as the foul beast touched her leg.  
  
"Ah, a fine specimen. No doubt you'll be a very pleasing gift, oh my yes!"  
  
_With a lecherous wink, the goblin leapt of the table and out of sight, then scampered off leaving the girl to dwell on the disturbing connotations of the word 'gift'._

* * *

Aragorn choked and spat a mouthful of some vile black fluid into the snow, which sizzled.  
  
"Sorry!" Gimli chuckled, as he corked his flask and stowed it in his pack. "You looked like you could use a drink, lad!"  
  
Legolas looked relieved as well. "You just fell down all of a sudden, we were worried. Are you alright?"  
  
Aragorn nodded and stood up. He glanced around dazedly, then did a double take and spun around, surveying the horizon.  
  
Gimli nodded glumly. "Then you feel it too. Something's changed. It happened just after you ... y'know."  
  
Legolas cried out all of a sudden and stabbed a slender finger back the way they had come. The others looked back down the road to the mountains. It took them a moment to see what had so terrified their companion, but when they did, the realisation was like a slow poison to the body. Strength ebbed from limbs and what hope they had of success was leached from their souls.  
  
Night was falling and the southward mountains were wreathed in darkness, blackness like to that of a shroud wrapping a corpse. Yet this was no natural dark. It crept forwards like some terrible tide, inexorable and relentless. Flowing down the slopes it rippled like something alive. A fell breeze sighed past the three companions, raising a veil of snow between them and the shapeless horror. As it dispersed, the wind was seen to reach the black mass, and as one, a score of sable banners were raised to the sky.  
  
The echoing mountains behind brought the war cries of some hundred thousand Orcs to the ears of Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli.


	11. City of the Dead , The Gift

**Chapter 11: City of the Dead / The Gift  
**  
Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli watched the huge mustering of Orcs approach steadily across the frozen landscape in disbelief. Gimli rubbed his eyes. He looked critically at his flask of Dwarven liquor, tossed it away into the snow, and stared again. He muttered something about needing a bigger axe.  
  
"This is impossible!" cried Legolas incredulously. "There's no way an army that size could be here! The borders of the Dark Lords realm are hundreds of miles south of here, we would have heard if he was advancing to war!"  
  
"More to the point," Gimli chipped in, "what would they want with a place like this? There's nothing here that would interest Sauron or his Orc captains anymore, and precious little to be had in the way of victuals for an army that size." He hefted his all-too-light pack. "And I should know," he added as an afterthought.  
  
"It matters not," said Aragorn. "There's something amiss about this whole business, but that is a puzzle for later. We cannot meet that lot, so we have but one choice – to enter the ruined city. With haste!"  
  
"Just one moment, laddie," grumbled the dwarf, "I don't run from Orcs. Now, if we stand together, we can fight like men and keep our honour. What do you say to that?"  
  
Hearing no response, he looked behind him to see Aragorn and Legolas running full pelt towards the gate, with shameless self-preservation.  
  
He snorted, "I see Legolas has lived up to his name and legged it." He turned, and sprinted after them with the grace that only certain very short people can call upon. "Why am I always this funny when no-one's around?" he wondered.  
  
Meanwhile the Orc advance continued unchecked across the ice-plains, and, for all its former grandeur and strength, the forsaken city looked appallingly weak in the face of such power.

* * *

Arwen awoke with a jerk. No, not from sleeping with Sebring – the snotty elven prince from Lothlorien who'd had his eye on her for however many centuries – but from the sudden movement kind. It seemed that the goblins had some use for her after all. Ever since she had been captured, they had treated her with more respect than any other people unlucky enough to be seized. If more respect meant not being eaten then she was perfectly happy with a state of affairs such as this. However, they had left her stapled to a hot stone table for several days, which had been rather painful. If she got free, they had better watch out.  
  
Goblin voices chattered and, with a lunge, the stone table began to move towards the door. The rocking motion and the occasional curse told her that she was being carried, table and all, somewhere. Whatever their purpose, it could only be an evil one. Goblins didn't act like this for the fun of it.  
  
With a surprising lack of noise, the iron door slid into the wall, and a long journey along endless passages, colonnades and tunnels began. The stifling atmosphere grew even hotter and Arwen realised that they were going deeper underground. They passed through many chambers, some full of goblins who were hacking lumps of a black substance off a rock-face, and others that contained complex machinery which looked like it hadn't seen maintenance for centuries, and which was vomiting a black fluid into vats. Finally the ceiling above her reared up into the shadows. With an effort she raised her head off the stone and looked ahead to see where they were going.  
  
She gasped.  
  
It was an awe-inspiring sight. A cavernous hall of unfathomable height, pillared with a forest of steel columns and paved with marble flagstones, stretched as far as she could see. It must have been a splendid marvel in its heydays, but those were obviously long gone. The pillars were pitted and corroded with rust, the marble flooring blackened and broken in places, and the whole thing was flooded with ten feet of seething waters, the vapours of which wafted lazily every which way and obscured everything in a dank haze.  
  
A causeway had been built from the entrance to the raised dais in the centre of the hall. This kept Arwen and her bearers out of the noisome liquid, which bubbled revoltingly. When the goblins disembarked the rickety causeway onto the secure stone of the dais, she heaved a sigh of relief – being dropped into that hideous ichor anchored to a hundredweight of stone was not an encouraging thought.  
  
Then the goblins thumped her down unceremoniously on top of a crudely hewn block of stone in the very centre of the dais. And she realised that her relief was a little premature.  
  
They had said gift. But they should have said _sacrifice_.  
  
But to _what_?

* * *

As the companions ran towards the suddenly inviting maw of the city, they realised that their allotment of shocks was not quite over for the day. For the city was clearly not deserted. A chorus of yells could be heard, accompanied by the strident ringing of bells. The great gates that the three had been making for began to grind shut.  
  
"Run!" yelled Aragorn, and they sprinted desperately forwards. Only a few hundred yards to go. People could be now seen on the towering battlements, hurrying to and fro like ants whose nest has been kicked. The gap was closing, a few more seconds and they would have made it! As it was the three companions skidded in the slippery mush on the road and collided with the gates, as they slammed shut with a very final thud. Aragorn hammered on the cold steel with his fist. It had about as much effect as hammering on a troll.  
  
With a roar, a volley of flaming arrows soared over their heads from the city into the onrushing melee of Orcs. The guttural barks and grunts of the Horde clashed with the shouted orders and cries from the battlements above to create a maelstrom of noise. Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli ran along the side of the wall, looking for another way in. There was none. Suddenly Legolas gave a cry and pointed at a half-concealed something he had almost tripped over. The others looked on as he scooped the snow away to reveal the frozen form of an Orc lying on the ground. It was not alone. The ground seemed to be carpeted with the prone forms, each frozen in to the ground in the rictus of death.  
  
"Seems like they've taken heavy losses in their first attack," said Gimli. "Well, they're about to take some more!"  
  
They drew their weapons and backed up against the wall. Gimli swung his axe with relish at the first Orc as it ran at him, slavering. The blade swung with deadly accuracy and passed cleanly through the Orc. Then the Orc returned the favour and passed cleanly through Gimli.  
  
"I've got to lay off the beer," muttered the dwarf as he watched the Orcs completely ignore him and his friends, and begin scaling the wall. Aragorn drew Anduril from its sheath and attempted to skewer some of the verminous horde. However, as soon as the blade made contact, the great din of battle, the yells and screams, the flying arrows, and the entire Orc army vanished as completely as if they had never been there – which of course they hadn't.  
  
Leaving three very confused people behind.  
  
"Ghosts." Aragorn said as he sheathed Anduril. It wasn't so much a question as a statement. They retraced their steps to the road and passed between the Gates. It was tempting to think that they had imagined the whole thing, but the two quarter-circles of disturbed snow made that comforting delusion just that ... a delusion. Being caught between two armies of spirits engaged in perpetual war was not an experience calculated to breed confidence, and the three travellers settled down in the ruin of an inn with the unpleasant feeling that they were being watched.  
  
They ate sparingly of their rations. Legolas eyed his strip of dried and salted meat – which had all the palatability of leather - with great distaste, while Gimli ate it with great gusto. The elf couldn't help but wonder whether, if all other food ran out, the dwarf wouldn't eat his own boots with that same expression of enjoyment.  
  
They had passed many more frozen bodies littering the streets of the city, and it was a gruesome spectacle. Now, it seemed, the spirits of the unburied dead were condemned to relive their last battle for eternity. Yet however sad it was, they could not be interred, since the ice which bound them to the earth was as hard as the finest steel. Anyway, the quest had to take precedence, and they discussed it at length before they slept.  
  
Aragorn dreamed as always of Arwen, but before dawn broke, Gimli's last words of the night before stole in. "I don't understand why you're looking for this 'Dome of Fire' above the ground! We Dwarves have always built our most secret places under it. Safer that way ..."  
  
He woke up to the sight of the said Dwarf trying to defrost over the fire a barrel of wine he'd found. Gimli looked up. "I know what you're thinking, and no. I wouldn't usually drink wine, but this stuff was old when Goldilocks over there was young." Legolas snorted at this and carried on combing his hair. "So think of the vintage!" Gimli concluded.  
  
"I thought you had decided to quit drinking?" Aragorn said, with a sardonic smile.  
  
"Well, in a way, yes. But in a more realistic and truthful way, no." He caught Legolas' eye. "Leastways, not yet. Besides, a drop of summat in the morning's good for keeping out the cold," he finished hastily.  
  
After a semblance of a breakfast, the companions set out towards the hub of the great sphere of the city. It was there that they hoped to find the Sword waiting for them.  
  
Little did they know that it would not be alone. 


End file.
